Post by Azrael Goeren on Nov 18, 2012 23:59:04 GMT -4
Phil. Calm down.
I'm sorry sir, I just don't know what to do.
How long has he been here again?
Since I came in this morning.
Which was?
8 o'clock sharp.
No need to kiss ass, Phil.
Okay, fine...8:15.
And that’s when you saw him in the lobby?
No.
No?
No, he was in the bathroom. Showering.
Showering?
In the sink.
Was he...clothed?
Does a rhinestone cowboy hat count?
The agitated young assistant loosens his tie and lets out an exhausted sigh. He runs a hand through his matted hair and takes a glance outside at the night sky that has crept over downtown Toronto. The man behind the desk folds his hands across his keyboard. He can easily sense his young assistant's frustration with the situation.
Today has most definitely not gone as planned here at the office.
The main office of Action Packed Wrestling to be precise.
The ten story glass office building nestled on the corner of Bay and Charles Street is the buzzing hive of the APW infrastructure, the place where all of the sponsorship, advertising and television deals get poured over and analyzed with the help of stale coffee and late-night Chinese takeout. The man behind the desk is Chief Marketing Officer Larry Scarcelli, a man who has been with APW from the beginning. One of APW's first staff hires, he started off working as a technical director in the video booth and managed to ascend the corporate ladder with skill and precision, showcasing his commitment to APW every step of the way.
While never in the public spotlight, Mr. Scarcelli views APW as his child just as much as President Jeff does.
He has the respect of the entire corporation and would do anything to preserve the integrity of APW. Never would anything wreck asunder that which he built.
Never.
Mr. Scarcelli stands up from his desk and grabs a cup of water for his personal assistant, handing him the cold beverage and giving him a pat on the back.
It’s okay Phil. You did fine, I doubt anyone in your position could have done any better.
Phil takes a nervous sip of water and gulps it down. He suddenly starts to shake his head in disbelief, trying not to make eye contact with his employer.
I really am sorry sir. I didn't want you to deal with him. I thought I could persuade him to leave, but he refused until he talked to you.
Phil rubs the side of his temples, slumping his back against Mr. Scarcelli's desk.
I don't think anyone in the office got any work done today because of him.
Mr. Scarcelli stares into Phil's extremely frayed and exhausted eyes.
Has everyone gone for the day?
I think so.
Let’s go then.
What? No sir...you can't cave in like this.
All he wants is a meeting right? The quicker I get this over with, the quicker he'll leave.
With that, Mr. Scarcelli grabs his sports coat off the back of his chair and slips it on. His assistant stands dutifully behind him as the two men make for the mahogany doors that lead out into the main office area. Mr. Scarcelli, with zero hesitation in regards to what he's about to do, opens the door and steps out.
Mr. Goeren? I'll be happy to meet with you now.
Lying across several padded chairs is indeed Azrael Goeren, wearing a skintight pair of black leather pants and an open black denim jacket. He lifts his red-tinted aviator glasses over his bandana and smiles warmly at Mr. Scarcelli before he reaches out to grip his hand.
You are a very difficult man to get a hold of, mein freund.
Not really, all you would have had to do is make an appointment with my personal assistant here and I could have seen you in two days. Without the need for all of this drama you created today.
Drama? Me? Himmel forbit es! I would never dream of causing APW any agitation. This is my home after all and we all know how important it is to keep your house in order.
Right.
Wunderbar! I'm glad you and I are on the same page here. I knew we would get along splendidly once we met face to face! Would you like a drink?
I don't drink while I'm working...
Come now, what’s a drink between two colleagues? It'll put hair on your chest...er...since you’re Italian, it'll put more hair on your knuckles.
That's quite alright.
Are you sure?
Azrael reaches underneath the chairs he was splayed across and pulls out a bottle.
It’s my own special blend of Sambuca, bourbon and Ecto Cooler with just a splash of amphetamines for that extra kick.
What in the world has gotten into you, Goeren?
Booze? A low grade giraffe tranquilizer?
I mean in general.
Ah. I thought you were asking specifically.
This is absolutely no way for an APW Mega Star to act, you know that right? Storming into the corporate headquarters under the influence of...everything...and making wild demands is no way to win over supporters.
Demands? Sir...you wound me. I'm not here to demand anything. I'm here to simply point out what needs to be fixed so APW can continue its ascension.
And what exactly needs to be fixed, Mr. Goeren?
Azrael smiles, throwing a loving arm around the shoulder of Mr. Scarcelli as he walks him into the main offices. A dozen or so cubicles fill the main area, each station decorated to its inhabitant's unique tastes. The dim light of a Coke machine illuminates the far corner of the room as various framed pictures of APW Mega Stars line the walls. In the center of this main space is a long conference table where APW employees can converge and share ideas. It’s here that Azrael leads Mr. Scarcelli, politely pulling out his seat at the head of the table.
Listen, Herr Scarcelli...mind if we lose Pee-Wee here? Poor kid looks like he's only a few years removed from reciting Spanish with that animated prostitute Dora.
I'm twenty two years old!
Aw, that's adorable. He thinks he's people.
Why you son of a...
Mr. Scarcelli moves over to his assistant and gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, although his gaze never leaves Azrael's grinning face.
It’s okay son, you can go home.
But I...
Phil. It’s fine. Mr. Goeren and I will just be having a quick chat here and then he'll be on his way. I'll see you tomorrow.
Yes Phil, he'll see you tomorrow. Hurry on home and change your tampon. Young ladies like you need their beauty sleep.
Azrael waves goodbye to the young employee, motioning towards the elevator. Phil steps in, giving his boss a desperate look before the doors slide shut in front of him.
You know that young man was top in his class at UMASS. He's going to be a fixture in this company for a long time.
I somehow doubt that, Herr Scarcelli. Speaking as a fellow executive...
You're not an executive around here, Henrik.
Azrael's smile evaporates.
I'm sorry, did I give you permission to use my Christian name?
A slight smile appears on Mr. Scarcelli's face now.
I'm sorry, my mistake. Now then...would you care elaborate on what you said earlier? About this place needing something fixed? Last I checked business with APW was never better. Three television shows, pay-per-view revenue breaking records, a huge international presence and streaming internet services.
The smile creeps back across Goeren's face as he motions for Mr. Scarcelli to sit down. He finally does, crossing his hands politely on the table like he would do with any presentation.
I wanted to speak with you specifically because I knew you were a man who could get things done around here. You have the president's ear and the respect of all of the staff...wrestlers included. You're an extremely vital, if not public cog in the APW machine.
I've worked very hard to become so.
I know you have. That is one thing that you and I have in common. Our work ethic.
From everything that I've heard about you since we signed you, I would say that’s completely false.
Azrael lets out a laugh, moving a stray blond hair away from his face.
You are misinformed then. I'm a man with a vision for professional wrestling. That vision has allowed me to keep my personal vices and my dedication to this sport in harmony with one another.
Seems very Buddhist of you.
Precisely. I am a man at peace with what he is.
And what are you, Mr. Goeren?
A prophet of sorts. You see, ever since I signed here I could tell exactly what was being done to me. Everyone knew about my reputation beforehand and the time I spent here as CWC World Heavyweight Champion clearly rubbed all of you the wrong way. So what do you do? You send your champions after me. The APW machine looks to get some use out of the nasty and vile Azrael Goeren before their chosen champions dispose of him.
First you send Chris Hart.
How horrible it must have been for all of you APW-lifers to watch him beg and scream for mercy before finally tapping out to me.
What next?
Send Delikado after Goeren, right? That crazy sombitch is sure to tear him apart, ja? Cigars all around, Goeren will get taken out and all will be right in APW once again!
Only it didn't work out that way, did it?
Nein...I crushed that man's skull in like a papier-mâché piñata and beat a former Overdrive champion. Clean. No outside help, no goons covering my back. I beat him on live television and in front of millions. I could tell when I was backstage after that match just what a raw nerve I struck.
Wrestlers and employees alike realized something horrific.
Azrael Goeren is not going away.
Its full-on panic mode here in APW when it comes to dealing with yours truly, isn't it? The mere thought of a man like me with an APW title around his waist must drive you boys crazy.
Mr. Scarcelli does not react.
Yes. Your silence answers my question quite well.
Can you blame us?
I can and do. APW is bogged down by this sense of tradition, a perverse word that no longer has any meaning in the world of wrestling. Tradition is wrestling's vestigial organ, decaying away day by day...year by year.
With that in mind, I offer you the opportunity to do something great. Show the world that you aren't afraid of the change that I bring with me.
Give me what is owed.
And what is that, Mr Goeren?
Azrael's eyes flutter across the portraits of the APW Mega Stars again, his sightline moving to the large plaque on the far wall.
Induct me into the APW Hall of Fame.
Come again?
Induct me into the APW Hall of Fame. I deserve it.
After two matches?
Absolutely. Consider it a proactive induction. Do this for all the fans we have now and all the ones I’ll gain us in the future.
Mr. Scarcelli stares up into Azrael's eyes, searching for some sort of sign that this demented German is joking with him. He sees none, so he speaks up.
Mr. Goeren. May I be blunt?
Of course.
There is absolutely no way we would ever allow you into the APW Hall of Fame. Ever. To be completely honest with you, I would say that most of us at the corporate level wish we never signed you. I'm sure President Jeff is beginning to share that sentiment as well. I remember the day after you showed up on Overdrive, we must have received over a thousand emails from fans who swore off APW for good as long as you were a member of this company's roster. We lost sponsorship deals because of you. In short sir, you are everything that is wrong with professional wrestling today. A selfish sociopath with an inflated sense of self-worth and lack of empathy for everyone who came before you.
Nothing is said between the two men for what seems like ages. The awkward silence fills the room as Azrael seems to soak it all in. Finally...Goeren’s laugh echoes throughout the office.
Your naivety is alarming, Herr Scarcelli. Let’s remember that you signed me...you were the ones who injected this virus into your bloodstream. Now you want to back out and have things go back to "normal"?
Azrael slams his hand down violently on the table.
Things will never go back, you hear me? No matter how many times those in power may wish to bury me, I will simply not be ignored. How many more champions must I cripple? How many more of your Mega Stars do I need to embarrass?
Azrael paces around the conference table like a caged animal, his hands running up to his face momentarily and digging into his skin before he lets out another demented laugh.
Actually, I already know the answer to that. Four.
Evan Envi.
Delikado.
Yarmouth.
Aubrey J. Parker.
Two men are the favorites to win the vacant Tag Team Titles at Christmas Chaos.
One woman has the adulation of the fans and the North American Title around her waist.
And one man is the most physically powerful wrestlers on roster.
Waiting in the wings after those four stands the crème de la crème of Overdrive and Asylum. Names like Biggs. Gates. Mania. Watson. Noble. Callahan. Level-One. Marvin.
A battle royal for survivors looms and out of that chaos will emerge one victor. One person will survive to fight another day with a guaranteed championship shot in pocket.
Azrael places both hands on the table now and leans in close to Mr. Scarcelli.
It’s obvious to me now that APW will not recognize me as the premiere talent in the industry today.
They will remain stagnant.
They will refuse to devolve willingly.
So I must force it upon you all.
I will win the elimination match at Overdrive with my team. I honestly don't care if I have to do it single-handedly, I will drag any survivors into the battle royal and then I'll dispose of them all as violently as I took care of Hart and Delikado.
I'll take that championship opportunity and rip it away from anyone stupid enough to get in my way. I'm done with making examples out of APW's champions, its time I become one myself.
From here on in, Azrael Goeren takes everything that is owed to him.
Four soldiers to stop me?
Might as well make it eight.
No, sixteen.
Make it the entire roster.
I will not stop until APW is molded in my image and all of the so-called legends of the past are removed from the APW history books. This company starts over with me, there was no APW before Azrael Goeren signed!
Azrael's voice becomes hoarse, the deranged look in his eyes tells the entire story.
They want four of their best to finish me off. That's it, yes? It’s quite funny considering one of those men is someone who I nearly concussed into senility last week.
Good ol' wacky Delikado. I know for a fact that he’ll be looking for revenge after what happened to him at Overdrive. Animals like him with their backs against the wall are always dangerous. I will give my Cuban friend all the credit in the world for his effort against me at Overdrive, I expected a fight and I got one...but just like last week Delikado will fall into that same overconfidence pit that cost him dearly the first time.
He'll be his usual zany self, maybe he'll insinuate I'm a Nazi and get a few chuckles from the idiot fans he swears up and down that he hates. He and his partner will continue to ham it up and do their little vaudeville act for the audience, then he’ll get on the microphone and claim he is the coolest dude in school.
Unfortunately for Delikado, at that point the bell will ring and the talking ends.
Delikado will realize he brought a Nerf football to a knife fight. His cartoonish antics mean nothing to me, all I see is a man who has wasted the talents that God has given to him by appointing himself APW's court jester. If he'd rather get a chuckle with his tag-team partner about my accent or my clothing rather than take me seriously, so be it.
I almost broke his neck when I beat him last week. This week, I'll finish the job.
And speaking of his tag-team partner, I actually love the way that Evan Envi carries himself about Overdrive. It's that pompous, "I'm better than you" attitude that always brings a smile to my face. Envi understands where this business is headed, and for that I applaud his foresight, but much like his tag-team partner he is blinded by his own arrogance and cockiness.
How many times has he droned on about what a super-duper-ultra-extreme-major-maxipad-mega mega star he is?
How many times has he completely disregarded his opponent only to get crushed in the match itself when he inevitably loses focus while thinking of another adjective to use in his nicknames?
At One Night In Hell, he simply had no business losing that Xtreme Title to Nick Watson...but he did. He had no business letting personal drama interfere with his career...but he does.
Evan hasn't just lost his edge, he's the dull butterknife that is about ready to be thrown in the trash.
I want Evan Envi at his ass-kicking best, but I'll always settle for his very worst. I'm not picky. While Envikado focuses on their march to tag-team gold, they'll no doubt arrogantly look past a man like me. I proved to Delikado what a mistake that was last week...this week, I'll have the chance to punish Evan for his hubris as well. Maybe a good lacerated lung or punctured spleen is all he needs to straighten his career out.
Azrael's face contorts into a sneer as his eyes glance up at the portraits lining the office room one more time, finally resting on current APW North American Champion Aubrey J. Parker's image.
Ah yes, Parker.
A woman who I've been dying to get my hands on since the moment you people signed me.
Not in any sexual way mind you, I'm sure she gets enough of that from the drooling cretins on Meltdown. Plus considering where she's been in the past, I'll take a pass on being Eskimo brothers with Envi, thank you very much.
Nein. My interest in her goes far deeper.
If there is one person...ONE person on this roster that I want to turn into a mangled mess of broken bones and ripped flesh, it’s her.
You see, she's the perfect image for this company. She's the hand-chosen champion who is easy on the eyes and great with the fans. The wrestlers backstage admire and respect her. She's the face of Meltdown right now and its painfully obvious APW hopes she continues her winning ways on Overdrive or Asylum in the near future.
She's everything APW looks for in a Mega Star.
Yes. Everyone loves AJP.
That means when I decimate her beyond recognition, when I stomp my boot into her pretty face or tear her shoulder from its socket, I'll not only be hurting her...I'll be hurting APW.
I'll rip the present and the future right out of this company in one degrading moment.
I hope she puts up a fight against me. I need her to. That way when all of her friends see her carried out of Newark on a stretcher, her once-beautiful face now a pounded mash of pulp and bone...they'll realize I made her look the way that APW will feel once Overdrive is concluded.
I hope she fights me though. I love it when they fight.
I suppose that just leaves Yarmouth, ja?
The big, hulking brute that has more than enough experience beating up German folk. Too bad comparing me to his former tag-team partner is like comparing champagne to Capri Sun. Yarmouth is a man who I truly feel sorry for, he's a man who has all of the tools to dominate this industry like no other but the hamster in the wheel died a long time ago.
While he finds contentment with his career by dressing up like Santa Claus or throwing hissy fits about how much he hates Raab, he should be focused on the opportunities that present themselves. He had a chance to win the extreme battle royal at One Night In Hell and he blew it. He had a chance to fight for a world championship at Asylum and he blew it.
If only he could focus, he would be unstoppable.
Maybe under my guidance he can.
There's a thought. With his teammates already using social media to bicker and bitch at one another, I offer Yarmouth the opportunity to cost his teammates the match and prove himself to me. Lay down for the greater good and he'll have a place at my side in the new APW.
If he decides to fight me, it’s off to the glue factory for that dumb beast.
Mr. Scarcelli, who has remained silent during Goeren's deranged rhetoric, finally speaks.
If you’re finished, let me say something. Action Packed Wrestling survived for a long time before you came in. It will survive long after you're gone. This company reflects the very best of competitive sport, and no matter what happens at Overdrive as long as I'm in a position of power you'll never ruin what we worked so hard to build.
Azrael smiles, peering back at him through the strands of hair that cascade over his face.
There is only one constant in this world.
Change.
After Overdrive, I'll have a title shot in hand and you people will have no choice but to listen to me.
Azrael starts taking steps backwards, heading for the elevator. He tilts his head to the side as the elevator doors swing open and he steps in.
Wonderful meeting, wouldn't you say? I trust you'll keep my Hall of Fame proposal in mind?
Absolutely not. In fact, I'll do everything I can to make you pay for your actions here today.
Azrael chuckles, resting his hands on the side of the elevator to keep the doors from closing.
Herr Scarcelli, let me ask you one final question.
Azrael takes a step back as the elevator doors start to close.
What hurts more? Knowing that I'm absolutely right about this business or knowing that APW will never sink low enough to stop me?
The doors close.
Black.
****************************************************************
I'm sorry sir, I just don't know what to do.
How long has he been here again?
Since I came in this morning.
Which was?
8 o'clock sharp.
No need to kiss ass, Phil.
Okay, fine...8:15.
And that’s when you saw him in the lobby?
No.
No?
No, he was in the bathroom. Showering.
Showering?
In the sink.
Was he...clothed?
Does a rhinestone cowboy hat count?
The agitated young assistant loosens his tie and lets out an exhausted sigh. He runs a hand through his matted hair and takes a glance outside at the night sky that has crept over downtown Toronto. The man behind the desk folds his hands across his keyboard. He can easily sense his young assistant's frustration with the situation.
Today has most definitely not gone as planned here at the office.
The main office of Action Packed Wrestling to be precise.
The ten story glass office building nestled on the corner of Bay and Charles Street is the buzzing hive of the APW infrastructure, the place where all of the sponsorship, advertising and television deals get poured over and analyzed with the help of stale coffee and late-night Chinese takeout. The man behind the desk is Chief Marketing Officer Larry Scarcelli, a man who has been with APW from the beginning. One of APW's first staff hires, he started off working as a technical director in the video booth and managed to ascend the corporate ladder with skill and precision, showcasing his commitment to APW every step of the way.
While never in the public spotlight, Mr. Scarcelli views APW as his child just as much as President Jeff does.
He has the respect of the entire corporation and would do anything to preserve the integrity of APW. Never would anything wreck asunder that which he built.
Never.
Mr. Scarcelli stands up from his desk and grabs a cup of water for his personal assistant, handing him the cold beverage and giving him a pat on the back.
It’s okay Phil. You did fine, I doubt anyone in your position could have done any better.
Phil takes a nervous sip of water and gulps it down. He suddenly starts to shake his head in disbelief, trying not to make eye contact with his employer.
I really am sorry sir. I didn't want you to deal with him. I thought I could persuade him to leave, but he refused until he talked to you.
Phil rubs the side of his temples, slumping his back against Mr. Scarcelli's desk.
I don't think anyone in the office got any work done today because of him.
Mr. Scarcelli stares into Phil's extremely frayed and exhausted eyes.
Has everyone gone for the day?
I think so.
Let’s go then.
What? No sir...you can't cave in like this.
All he wants is a meeting right? The quicker I get this over with, the quicker he'll leave.
With that, Mr. Scarcelli grabs his sports coat off the back of his chair and slips it on. His assistant stands dutifully behind him as the two men make for the mahogany doors that lead out into the main office area. Mr. Scarcelli, with zero hesitation in regards to what he's about to do, opens the door and steps out.
Mr. Goeren? I'll be happy to meet with you now.
Lying across several padded chairs is indeed Azrael Goeren, wearing a skintight pair of black leather pants and an open black denim jacket. He lifts his red-tinted aviator glasses over his bandana and smiles warmly at Mr. Scarcelli before he reaches out to grip his hand.
You are a very difficult man to get a hold of, mein freund.
Not really, all you would have had to do is make an appointment with my personal assistant here and I could have seen you in two days. Without the need for all of this drama you created today.
Drama? Me? Himmel forbit es! I would never dream of causing APW any agitation. This is my home after all and we all know how important it is to keep your house in order.
Right.
Wunderbar! I'm glad you and I are on the same page here. I knew we would get along splendidly once we met face to face! Would you like a drink?
I don't drink while I'm working...
Come now, what’s a drink between two colleagues? It'll put hair on your chest...er...since you’re Italian, it'll put more hair on your knuckles.
That's quite alright.
Are you sure?
Azrael reaches underneath the chairs he was splayed across and pulls out a bottle.
It’s my own special blend of Sambuca, bourbon and Ecto Cooler with just a splash of amphetamines for that extra kick.
What in the world has gotten into you, Goeren?
Booze? A low grade giraffe tranquilizer?
I mean in general.
Ah. I thought you were asking specifically.
This is absolutely no way for an APW Mega Star to act, you know that right? Storming into the corporate headquarters under the influence of...everything...and making wild demands is no way to win over supporters.
Demands? Sir...you wound me. I'm not here to demand anything. I'm here to simply point out what needs to be fixed so APW can continue its ascension.
And what exactly needs to be fixed, Mr. Goeren?
Azrael smiles, throwing a loving arm around the shoulder of Mr. Scarcelli as he walks him into the main offices. A dozen or so cubicles fill the main area, each station decorated to its inhabitant's unique tastes. The dim light of a Coke machine illuminates the far corner of the room as various framed pictures of APW Mega Stars line the walls. In the center of this main space is a long conference table where APW employees can converge and share ideas. It’s here that Azrael leads Mr. Scarcelli, politely pulling out his seat at the head of the table.
Listen, Herr Scarcelli...mind if we lose Pee-Wee here? Poor kid looks like he's only a few years removed from reciting Spanish with that animated prostitute Dora.
I'm twenty two years old!
Aw, that's adorable. He thinks he's people.
Why you son of a...
Mr. Scarcelli moves over to his assistant and gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, although his gaze never leaves Azrael's grinning face.
It’s okay son, you can go home.
But I...
Phil. It’s fine. Mr. Goeren and I will just be having a quick chat here and then he'll be on his way. I'll see you tomorrow.
Yes Phil, he'll see you tomorrow. Hurry on home and change your tampon. Young ladies like you need their beauty sleep.
Azrael waves goodbye to the young employee, motioning towards the elevator. Phil steps in, giving his boss a desperate look before the doors slide shut in front of him.
You know that young man was top in his class at UMASS. He's going to be a fixture in this company for a long time.
I somehow doubt that, Herr Scarcelli. Speaking as a fellow executive...
You're not an executive around here, Henrik.
Azrael's smile evaporates.
I'm sorry, did I give you permission to use my Christian name?
A slight smile appears on Mr. Scarcelli's face now.
I'm sorry, my mistake. Now then...would you care elaborate on what you said earlier? About this place needing something fixed? Last I checked business with APW was never better. Three television shows, pay-per-view revenue breaking records, a huge international presence and streaming internet services.
The smile creeps back across Goeren's face as he motions for Mr. Scarcelli to sit down. He finally does, crossing his hands politely on the table like he would do with any presentation.
I wanted to speak with you specifically because I knew you were a man who could get things done around here. You have the president's ear and the respect of all of the staff...wrestlers included. You're an extremely vital, if not public cog in the APW machine.
I've worked very hard to become so.
I know you have. That is one thing that you and I have in common. Our work ethic.
From everything that I've heard about you since we signed you, I would say that’s completely false.
Azrael lets out a laugh, moving a stray blond hair away from his face.
You are misinformed then. I'm a man with a vision for professional wrestling. That vision has allowed me to keep my personal vices and my dedication to this sport in harmony with one another.
Seems very Buddhist of you.
Precisely. I am a man at peace with what he is.
And what are you, Mr. Goeren?
A prophet of sorts. You see, ever since I signed here I could tell exactly what was being done to me. Everyone knew about my reputation beforehand and the time I spent here as CWC World Heavyweight Champion clearly rubbed all of you the wrong way. So what do you do? You send your champions after me. The APW machine looks to get some use out of the nasty and vile Azrael Goeren before their chosen champions dispose of him.
First you send Chris Hart.
How horrible it must have been for all of you APW-lifers to watch him beg and scream for mercy before finally tapping out to me.
What next?
Send Delikado after Goeren, right? That crazy sombitch is sure to tear him apart, ja? Cigars all around, Goeren will get taken out and all will be right in APW once again!
Only it didn't work out that way, did it?
Nein...I crushed that man's skull in like a papier-mâché piñata and beat a former Overdrive champion. Clean. No outside help, no goons covering my back. I beat him on live television and in front of millions. I could tell when I was backstage after that match just what a raw nerve I struck.
Wrestlers and employees alike realized something horrific.
Azrael Goeren is not going away.
Its full-on panic mode here in APW when it comes to dealing with yours truly, isn't it? The mere thought of a man like me with an APW title around his waist must drive you boys crazy.
Mr. Scarcelli does not react.
Yes. Your silence answers my question quite well.
Can you blame us?
I can and do. APW is bogged down by this sense of tradition, a perverse word that no longer has any meaning in the world of wrestling. Tradition is wrestling's vestigial organ, decaying away day by day...year by year.
With that in mind, I offer you the opportunity to do something great. Show the world that you aren't afraid of the change that I bring with me.
Give me what is owed.
And what is that, Mr Goeren?
Azrael's eyes flutter across the portraits of the APW Mega Stars again, his sightline moving to the large plaque on the far wall.
Induct me into the APW Hall of Fame.
Come again?
Induct me into the APW Hall of Fame. I deserve it.
After two matches?
Absolutely. Consider it a proactive induction. Do this for all the fans we have now and all the ones I’ll gain us in the future.
Mr. Scarcelli stares up into Azrael's eyes, searching for some sort of sign that this demented German is joking with him. He sees none, so he speaks up.
Mr. Goeren. May I be blunt?
Of course.
There is absolutely no way we would ever allow you into the APW Hall of Fame. Ever. To be completely honest with you, I would say that most of us at the corporate level wish we never signed you. I'm sure President Jeff is beginning to share that sentiment as well. I remember the day after you showed up on Overdrive, we must have received over a thousand emails from fans who swore off APW for good as long as you were a member of this company's roster. We lost sponsorship deals because of you. In short sir, you are everything that is wrong with professional wrestling today. A selfish sociopath with an inflated sense of self-worth and lack of empathy for everyone who came before you.
Nothing is said between the two men for what seems like ages. The awkward silence fills the room as Azrael seems to soak it all in. Finally...Goeren’s laugh echoes throughout the office.
Your naivety is alarming, Herr Scarcelli. Let’s remember that you signed me...you were the ones who injected this virus into your bloodstream. Now you want to back out and have things go back to "normal"?
Azrael slams his hand down violently on the table.
Things will never go back, you hear me? No matter how many times those in power may wish to bury me, I will simply not be ignored. How many more champions must I cripple? How many more of your Mega Stars do I need to embarrass?
Azrael paces around the conference table like a caged animal, his hands running up to his face momentarily and digging into his skin before he lets out another demented laugh.
Actually, I already know the answer to that. Four.
Evan Envi.
Delikado.
Yarmouth.
Aubrey J. Parker.
Two men are the favorites to win the vacant Tag Team Titles at Christmas Chaos.
One woman has the adulation of the fans and the North American Title around her waist.
And one man is the most physically powerful wrestlers on roster.
Waiting in the wings after those four stands the crème de la crème of Overdrive and Asylum. Names like Biggs. Gates. Mania. Watson. Noble. Callahan. Level-One. Marvin.
A battle royal for survivors looms and out of that chaos will emerge one victor. One person will survive to fight another day with a guaranteed championship shot in pocket.
Azrael places both hands on the table now and leans in close to Mr. Scarcelli.
It’s obvious to me now that APW will not recognize me as the premiere talent in the industry today.
They will remain stagnant.
They will refuse to devolve willingly.
So I must force it upon you all.
I will win the elimination match at Overdrive with my team. I honestly don't care if I have to do it single-handedly, I will drag any survivors into the battle royal and then I'll dispose of them all as violently as I took care of Hart and Delikado.
I'll take that championship opportunity and rip it away from anyone stupid enough to get in my way. I'm done with making examples out of APW's champions, its time I become one myself.
From here on in, Azrael Goeren takes everything that is owed to him.
Four soldiers to stop me?
Might as well make it eight.
No, sixteen.
Make it the entire roster.
I will not stop until APW is molded in my image and all of the so-called legends of the past are removed from the APW history books. This company starts over with me, there was no APW before Azrael Goeren signed!
Azrael's voice becomes hoarse, the deranged look in his eyes tells the entire story.
They want four of their best to finish me off. That's it, yes? It’s quite funny considering one of those men is someone who I nearly concussed into senility last week.
Good ol' wacky Delikado. I know for a fact that he’ll be looking for revenge after what happened to him at Overdrive. Animals like him with their backs against the wall are always dangerous. I will give my Cuban friend all the credit in the world for his effort against me at Overdrive, I expected a fight and I got one...but just like last week Delikado will fall into that same overconfidence pit that cost him dearly the first time.
He'll be his usual zany self, maybe he'll insinuate I'm a Nazi and get a few chuckles from the idiot fans he swears up and down that he hates. He and his partner will continue to ham it up and do their little vaudeville act for the audience, then he’ll get on the microphone and claim he is the coolest dude in school.
Unfortunately for Delikado, at that point the bell will ring and the talking ends.
Delikado will realize he brought a Nerf football to a knife fight. His cartoonish antics mean nothing to me, all I see is a man who has wasted the talents that God has given to him by appointing himself APW's court jester. If he'd rather get a chuckle with his tag-team partner about my accent or my clothing rather than take me seriously, so be it.
I almost broke his neck when I beat him last week. This week, I'll finish the job.
And speaking of his tag-team partner, I actually love the way that Evan Envi carries himself about Overdrive. It's that pompous, "I'm better than you" attitude that always brings a smile to my face. Envi understands where this business is headed, and for that I applaud his foresight, but much like his tag-team partner he is blinded by his own arrogance and cockiness.
How many times has he droned on about what a super-duper-ultra-extreme-major-maxipad-mega mega star he is?
How many times has he completely disregarded his opponent only to get crushed in the match itself when he inevitably loses focus while thinking of another adjective to use in his nicknames?
At One Night In Hell, he simply had no business losing that Xtreme Title to Nick Watson...but he did. He had no business letting personal drama interfere with his career...but he does.
Evan hasn't just lost his edge, he's the dull butterknife that is about ready to be thrown in the trash.
I want Evan Envi at his ass-kicking best, but I'll always settle for his very worst. I'm not picky. While Envikado focuses on their march to tag-team gold, they'll no doubt arrogantly look past a man like me. I proved to Delikado what a mistake that was last week...this week, I'll have the chance to punish Evan for his hubris as well. Maybe a good lacerated lung or punctured spleen is all he needs to straighten his career out.
Azrael's face contorts into a sneer as his eyes glance up at the portraits lining the office room one more time, finally resting on current APW North American Champion Aubrey J. Parker's image.
Ah yes, Parker.
A woman who I've been dying to get my hands on since the moment you people signed me.
Not in any sexual way mind you, I'm sure she gets enough of that from the drooling cretins on Meltdown. Plus considering where she's been in the past, I'll take a pass on being Eskimo brothers with Envi, thank you very much.
Nein. My interest in her goes far deeper.
If there is one person...ONE person on this roster that I want to turn into a mangled mess of broken bones and ripped flesh, it’s her.
You see, she's the perfect image for this company. She's the hand-chosen champion who is easy on the eyes and great with the fans. The wrestlers backstage admire and respect her. She's the face of Meltdown right now and its painfully obvious APW hopes she continues her winning ways on Overdrive or Asylum in the near future.
She's everything APW looks for in a Mega Star.
Yes. Everyone loves AJP.
That means when I decimate her beyond recognition, when I stomp my boot into her pretty face or tear her shoulder from its socket, I'll not only be hurting her...I'll be hurting APW.
I'll rip the present and the future right out of this company in one degrading moment.
I hope she puts up a fight against me. I need her to. That way when all of her friends see her carried out of Newark on a stretcher, her once-beautiful face now a pounded mash of pulp and bone...they'll realize I made her look the way that APW will feel once Overdrive is concluded.
I hope she fights me though. I love it when they fight.
I suppose that just leaves Yarmouth, ja?
The big, hulking brute that has more than enough experience beating up German folk. Too bad comparing me to his former tag-team partner is like comparing champagne to Capri Sun. Yarmouth is a man who I truly feel sorry for, he's a man who has all of the tools to dominate this industry like no other but the hamster in the wheel died a long time ago.
While he finds contentment with his career by dressing up like Santa Claus or throwing hissy fits about how much he hates Raab, he should be focused on the opportunities that present themselves. He had a chance to win the extreme battle royal at One Night In Hell and he blew it. He had a chance to fight for a world championship at Asylum and he blew it.
If only he could focus, he would be unstoppable.
Maybe under my guidance he can.
There's a thought. With his teammates already using social media to bicker and bitch at one another, I offer Yarmouth the opportunity to cost his teammates the match and prove himself to me. Lay down for the greater good and he'll have a place at my side in the new APW.
If he decides to fight me, it’s off to the glue factory for that dumb beast.
Mr. Scarcelli, who has remained silent during Goeren's deranged rhetoric, finally speaks.
If you’re finished, let me say something. Action Packed Wrestling survived for a long time before you came in. It will survive long after you're gone. This company reflects the very best of competitive sport, and no matter what happens at Overdrive as long as I'm in a position of power you'll never ruin what we worked so hard to build.
Azrael smiles, peering back at him through the strands of hair that cascade over his face.
There is only one constant in this world.
Change.
After Overdrive, I'll have a title shot in hand and you people will have no choice but to listen to me.
Azrael starts taking steps backwards, heading for the elevator. He tilts his head to the side as the elevator doors swing open and he steps in.
Wonderful meeting, wouldn't you say? I trust you'll keep my Hall of Fame proposal in mind?
Absolutely not. In fact, I'll do everything I can to make you pay for your actions here today.
Azrael chuckles, resting his hands on the side of the elevator to keep the doors from closing.
Herr Scarcelli, let me ask you one final question.
Azrael takes a step back as the elevator doors start to close.
What hurts more? Knowing that I'm absolutely right about this business or knowing that APW will never sink low enough to stop me?
The doors close.
Black.
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